


Merry Christmas Derek

by brokenpromisesandhope



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alcohol Abuse/Alcoholism, Alternate Universe - Human, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Christmas, Dead Hale family, Dead Sheriff Stilinski, Depression, Divorce, Heartbreak, Hurt and comfort, Lawyer! Derek, M/M, Marriage, Post-Divorce, Smut, Stylist! Stiles, Swearing, Vomit, Workaholic Derek, money issues
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-16
Updated: 2016-11-16
Packaged: 2018-08-31 09:52:52
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,385
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8573746
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/brokenpromisesandhope/pseuds/brokenpromisesandhope
Summary: Stiles surprises Derek on Christmas.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Hey y'all I worked really hard on this and I think it's kind of a different fic so.. Let me know what you think but please be kind.   
> Xx  
> T

November

Derek rushes to the table where Stiles is sitting. He's almost forty minutes late, but his client meeting had run late and then there was traffic.. He hopes Stiles isn't in a bad mood because Derek wants to have a good night, he really does. He spots Stiles, sitting at the dimly lit table, two wine glasses in front of him, one empty, one half full. 

He looks gorgeous, as always, hair artfully styled with product, wearing a button down baby blue shirt. Derek however is grimy from his day at the office, black pants starting to wrinkle, arms tired from pulling his suit coat on and off. He beams at Stiles, who barely gives him any smile as he stands up. Derek embraces him tightly, willing him to not be mad, and not cause a scene, with all his might. Stiles must catch on because although he doesn't kiss Derek, he doesn't cause a scene either. 

When they first started dating they did this every year on November first. They had dinner and exchanged Christmas lists for that year. It became somewhat of a tradition, something they looked forward to, always. 

There had been a handful of years where the lists were dumb, a kiss every morning when I wake up, to get to use the shower first dammit, blowjobs whenever they wanted, easy stuff. Free stuff, more importantly. But even when they lived in a studio apartment and ate 15 cent ramen, they did it, every year, on November first. Now, they lived in a five bedroom house and drove luxury cars, and the list exchange got later and later every year. Today was November fifteenth, the latest yet. But Derek was always busy with his clients, and he'd already had to reschedule twice so Stiles was just happy he had showed up, honestly. 

Derek slides off his suit coat and picks up the menu,   
"How was your day?"   
"It was good, what about you?"   
"Long, clearly. Murder trials these days," Derek tries to joke. Stiles doesn't laugh, just drains his wine glass.   
"You sure you even have time for dinner? I wouldn't want your precious clients waiting any longer than necessary," Stiles complains.   
"I haven't eaten yet, I have time," he quickly adds.   
Stiles hums.

Dinner is tense, Derek is walking on eggshells and Stiles isn't accommodating him the way he's used to. Finally Derek pulls out a quickly scribbled list. He'd had his assistant Erica draft it for him, and he'd quickly copied it in his own writing.   
"Do you want to go first, or do you want me to?" Derek asks.  
"Same time?" Stiles asks.   
Derek nods, sliding the paper across the table and Stiles does the same. 

Derek grabs the paper, excitement starting to rise in his belly. Although he and Stiles aren't doing the best right now, Christmas is his favorite holiday, and he's going to use that to his advantage. He's going to use it to help repair their relationship, this will not be another Bora Bora. He opens the paper eagerly, wondering how he can incorporate this list into the trip he's already planning. He falters however, when he only sees one thing on the list. In Stiles' messy script, is: A Divorce 

He looks up, confused, hurt, enraged, to see Stiles' smiling at him, fake, teeth too white, lips pulled too tight, "Merry Christmas sweetheart." 

He drinks three whiskies before he can even think about going home. Then he drinks one more. When he gets home, no ones there. He realizes he doesn't even need to look for any evidence of Stiles being gone, because he doesn't know what to look for. It looks like the room has been unoccupied for months. Granted it has been a few nights since Derek slept in there, but it shouldn't be that different. 

He wanders to the extra bedroom down the hall, and almost falls back in horror. Because it's so clear that this is where Stiles has been staying. The bed is sloppily unmade, there's numerous chargers sticking out of the wall. There's products thrown around his desk, post it notes stuck to the mirror. It must have been more than a few nights that Derek hadn't stayed at the house.. Enough nights for Stiles to do this. He sinks into the bed and puts his head in his hands. 

Derek wants to call Stiles, but he doesn't know what to say. So he doesn't say anything. It's been another week, Derek's at home on Sunday, getting another cup of coffee so he can finish going through his emails, when the garage opens. He's shocked, and tries to move around the kitchen and look natural. Stiles freezes when he sees Derek. 

He looks like shit honestly. His hair is flat and greasy, there's bags under his eyes, he looks too thin in an old baggy lacrosse sweater and sweatpants. His eyes widen and he scrubs at his unshaven face. He never could grow a beard.   
"Shit, I didn't think you were here."  
"It's Sunday."  
Stiles just stares at him, eyes wide,   
"So?"  
Derek nods, he saw that coming,   
"I don't have any new clients, and there's nothing I can do today so I thought I'd work from home." 

Stiles nods, "That makes more sense."  
Derek sets his coffee on the counter,   
"So what's wrong?" He asks.  
"I just came to get some more clothes."  
"Thats not what I asked, I asked what's wrong." Derek takes a step closer to Stiles and reaches out to out an arm on his shoulder, but hesitates, he doesn't know if he's allowed. That breaks the floodgates and a fat tear rolls down Stiles' face. He practically throws himself into Derek's arms, burying his face in Derek's neck. Derek wraps his arms around him, trying to hide his shock and worry. He doesn't want to spook Stiles but he wants to know what the hell is going on. 

"It's the anniversary of my dad's death," Stiles mumbles eventually. Derek feels his heart sink. He's an asshole.   
"Fuck, babe, I'm sorry. I've been so wrapped up that I haven't even looked at the date, I just," the excuses fall off his tongue easy, as always. Stiles pulls away and Derek fights to not pull him closer,  
"Trust me, I know. You're too wrapped up in your own work to think about anyone else."   
"Stiles,"   
He wipes at his tears, cheeks pink, "I just came to get some clothes." 

"Stiles, wait, can I go with you to his grave?"  
"No."  
"Why not? Why do you want a divorce? Please, talk to me." Stiles being silent, means it's over.   
Stiles eyes narrow, "You're kidding me right? The real question should be, why wouldn't I want a divorce? Why would I stay?"   
Derek pinches the bridge of his nose, "If this is about Bora Bora again-"

"Oh my god!" Stiles shouts, throwing his hands in the air, "You don't even understand why I'm so mad about it!"  
"Then tell me! We can go again, we can go at the end of the year, I have vacation time-"  
"Derek, it's not about the fucking trip. You begged me to go, you begged me to take off sixteen days of work during our most busiest time, and I did because you have always valued your job over mine. I waited at the airport for four hours, four fucking hours, and you called me, and said you'd be late because your client had gotten arrested," 

"And you forgot. You forgot a fucking sixteen day trip. My suitcase sat at the end of the bed for three days, not that you were really home," Stiles sighs, shoulders slumping, "You pick clients over me all the time, that's why I want a divorce Derek."  
"I don't Stiles. It's just a job. We need the money,"   
Stiles barks out a laugh,   
"Derek, we do not need the money."   
"Do you like your 2016 Lexus? Do you like our house? Do you like your salon? We need the money." 

Stiles face drops, and he digs in his pocket, whipping his car keys at Derek. The hit him in the chest,   
"Keep your car. Keep your house. I'll pay you back every fucking dime you ever put into my salon." And he storms out the door. 

December 

They don't talk after that. Stiles is furious, he knows. He ignores Derek's phone calls and texts. If he ever answers, he tells Derek to go through his lawyer. That grinds Derek up even more. Because he picked a lawyer from Derek's firm, of course he did, they're the best. He's sure Stiles didn't mean to pick his best friend Boyd. It makes the office tense. Especially when Derek goes to him and asks how Stiles' is doing and he politely tells Derek he can't say. Derek drinks a lot. Works even more. 

It's funny how Christmas was always his favorite, when his family was alive they would spend the whole month baking, cutting down the tree, reading stories and watching movies. The first few years of his and Stiles' relationship they spent in an unheated apartment, with no tree, eating Christmas cookies all hours of the day. 

Now, he was truly alone. He didn't see the need to get a tree since Stiles wasn't there and he worked too much to decorate it alone. It's Christmas Eve and he's sitting on his couch, drinking whiskey and eating the entirety of Mrs. Field's cookie plate. Home alone is on in the background and he drinks until his vision is fuzzy and pulls out his phone. He calls Stiles and he doesn't answer. Of course. He calls him three more times and he doesn't answer. It makes tears burn in his eyes. Whiskey burning in his throat. 

To: Stiles   
From: Your number 

I live you

To: Stiles   
From: your number 

Love 

To: Stiles   
From: your number 

I love you so much 

To: Stiles   
From: your number 

Please don't leave

To: your number   
From: Stiles 

Go to bed Derek. 

 

January   
Derek spends New Years like he spends Christmas, drunk. He hasn't seen Stiles in six weeks and probably won't see him until their meeting. Boyd wanted to mediate before they drew up papers which Derek was okay with. He planned on getting Stiles back anyway, but he couldn't do that if he didn't answer his phone. 

Derek knows he shouldn't do it, but he can't help it. He needs to know how Stiles is doing. He hadn't come back to get his car, and no significant amount of money had come out of their joint account. So here he is, Starbucks drinks and muffins in his hand, walking in to Stiles' salon. 

The salon was nice, stylish and on the right side of town. It had been almost three years and it had proved a worth while investment. He walks in and gets a smile from the receptionist Tara. So Stiles must not have told them yet.   
"Hey Derek, how are you?"  
"Good Tara, how are you?"  
"I'm good, you came at the perfect time, Stiles is just in the back."   
Derek nods and heads back to Stiles' office. 

Stiles is sitting at his desk and his eyes widen when he sees Derek,   
"What are you doing here?"   
Derek passes him his venti peppermint mocha and gingerbread loaf, "I brought your favorite."   
Stiles takes a sip of his drink and gestures for Derek to sit down.  
"Is it busy?" He asks awkwardly.   
"Not really. Aren't you busy?"   
"It's my lunch break."  
Stiles' eyes widen, "You take those these days?"

Derek sighs, defeated, "Stiles, I haven't seen you in forever. You never answer your phone."  
"Divorce tends to do that."   
"I still don't understand why you're doing this. I got a big case and I forgot about our vacation, I'm sorry. Let's go now. We can go anywhere you want, we don't ever have to come back." He's close to pleading, but his pride won't let him. He looks down at his hands. 

It's a few more moments before Stiles talks.   
"Remember my birthday? Last year?"  
Derek starts to smile, that was one thing he'd done good. He'd taken off work, woke Stiles up to breakfast in bed. Made him a cake and steak for dinner. They'd even fucked. For the first time in months. It was amazing. He'd given Stiles a white gold chain that he wore every day since. He even had it on today.  
"Yeah, of course."   
"I'm not telling you this to hurt you, I'm, I'm saying this because you want to know why I want a divorce- that wasn't my birthday." 

Derek's head snaps up, "What? What the hell are you talking about?"   
"You were three days late."  
Derek's face drops, "No, no I-" but it actually explained so much. How Stiles had been acting funny the days before. How Stiles was so shocked when Derek woke him up with waffles. How he almost cried when Derek asked if he was happy, if he'd had a good birthday. Derek thought he was tearing up because of the amazing night they'd spent together, how much love they'd shared, but it was really because- 

"You're sure?" He asks, voice trembling.   
"I'm sure," Stiles says with a tight lipped smile, "It was right when you'd got that double homicide, and you were working on Greg's DUI too. Remember?"   
Derek remembers. He'd been so stressed, slept at the office for days. But he knew when Stiles' birthday was. He had it on his calendar, he'd just, he'd gotten his days mixed up. He reaches a hand out,   
"Stiles,"   
"You've made it clear over and over your job is more important than me."  
"I didn't mean, I just got mixed up. Stiles, please,"   
Stiles pulls his hand back, turns back to his computer,   
"I'll see you next week at our meeting." 

February 

Derek doesn't mean to miss the first meeting. He's just busy and it isn't on his radar. He sure hears from Boyd though. He knocks on his door and Derek takes his glasses off, gesturing him in.   
"You missed our meeting?"   
Derek looks at his calendar, "Shit. That was today?"   
Boyd nods, "Stiles' pissed."   
"I bet he is. I would call and apologize but he isn't answering my calls."   
"My advice."  
Derek rolls his eyes, "Yeah, thanks for that."   
Boyd shrugs, "He's my client."  
"And he's paying for you with my money."   
"Actually I don't think it is. He's been getting billed, hasn't paid in full yet."   
"Oh god, tell him not to worry about it. This is gonna bankrupt him."   
"I think he's doing better off than you think."  
"What do you mean?"  
Boyd heads to the door, "I've gotta go Derek. Ignoring this isn't gonna make it go away." 

Derek does mean to miss the next three scheduled meetings though. He hopes Stiles will get so mad, he'll call him and go off. But he doesn't. He gets calls from Boyd though, emails too. Finally he has to show up. Stiles has made it clear he's not letting this go. 

They meet in a big conference room, Boyd and Stiles on one side, Derek on the other, representing himself.   
"So what kind of papers should we draw up? What do you want?" He asks, eyes on Stiles. "You can have your car, the salon is yours. You've got a 401k through the firm which I want you to have. I'd like the cabin if that's okay. As far as money, let's just, you can have half of whatever our stocks have brought in, you keep your salary, I'll keep mine."

Stiles leans over and whispers to Boyd. Derek tries not to get annoyed.   
"I don't think that's a good idea Stiles," Boyd says. Stiles whispers some more and Boyd takes a deep breath, bracing both hands on the table. Derek cannot possibly be ready for what he's going to say next.   
"I'll need to see your banking records for the last eight years."   
"Wait, what?"   
"I'll need banking statements, as well as your taxes so I can see your income for the last eight years." 

Derek's eyes land on Stiles who looks like he's surprised Derek's so upset right now, "You want my money? You really want my fucking money?" Derek demands, anger sparking in his chest.   
"Derek," Boyd says calmly, "he is entitled to half of whatever you made while you were married."  
"I know what the fucking law says."   
"I can also print you his statements if you'd like."   
"That's not necessary, I don't want his money," Derek spits. 

Stiles has the nerve to smirk at Derek's tone and he tries to calm down,   
"Boyd, I'll get you those papers. Id like to talk to Stiles alone for a minute."   
Boyd hesitates but Stiles waves him off. He hesitates at the door, "You don't have to say anything without representation." And then he's gone. 

Stiles stands up and walks towards Derek. Derek walks up to him, tries not to give into the urge to fucking strangle him.   
"You don't want to make this easy do you?"  
"What do you mean?"  
"You want a divorce, I'm giving you that, and yet you want to take my money," Derek all but growls. He's worked his ass off to get here, and he's earned every cent through his blood, sweat and tears. 

Stiles sighs, smirk vanishing, "Relax Derek. I don't care about your money, I just want to see your records."  
"If you don't want my money, then why? You clearly think I'm hiding money from you if you're summoning my records through Boyd. So what do you want?"  
"I want to know how much I'm worth!" Stiles snaps, voice cracking, "Our marriage got pushed to the back burner so you could chase your career, I just want to know how much money was enough for you to give up on me," Stiles mumbles, sniffling hard. 

Derek's shoulders slump and he tries to reach out to him, "Stiles,"  
Stiles yanks away from Derek, forcing himself to straighten up, "I'm not taking your fucking money, I just want to see. Fax them to Boyd so he can draw up these papers. I want this over with." And he's out of the office before Derek can stop him. 

March 

Derek knows there's no hope, it's just obvious. Stiles ignores his texts and calls. Scott comes by to get the last of his things. Derek doesn't know what to do. He drinks. A lot. A lot a lot. He spends most of the time in a drunken haze. 

It's Ericas birthday and he's out at the bar. Everyone left about an hour ago but he's still there, drinking eight dollar whiskies because apparently he has money to waste. He hears his laugh first, and he looks up and down the bar. He spots him, at the other end of the bar, looking like sex. His hair is loose, cheeks flushed red, wearing a tight white v neck and flirting with a guy next to him. 

It only takes him licking his lips and putting his hand on the guys shoulder before Derek rushes over, "fuck off," he tells the guy.   
"What the fuck?" The guy demands angrily.   
"Fuck off." Derek says, pushing him. He will fight the guy right here. Tear him apart. 

Stiles is glaring at him with those beautiful whiskey eyes. He licks his bottom lip, and Derek can tell he's tipsy,   
"What are you doing here?"   
"It was Ericas birthday."  
Stiles nods slowly, "You ran him off."   
Derek shrugs, sitting next to Stiles. Stiles sighs, "Buy me a drink."  
Derek orders him a margarita and Stiles tries to hide a smile. Derek is trying to think of his next words, something he can say without scaring Stiles off when he sees his bare hands. 

"You're not wearing your ring."   
"We're divorced," Stiles says, tipping up his cup.  
"Not officially."  
Stiles shakes his head slightly, "You're right."   
"Stiles,"  
"Remember when we used to come to the clubs? When we were young? And we just danced and danced until one of us got too horny to keep going or too drunk?"   
Derek nods, "I remember."

"I remember this one time, we couldn't afford a cab, and I was so fucking drunk, and you carried me home. Sixteen blocks."   
"God you were heavy too."  
Stiles shoves at him, "I was light as a feather, you hush. You were always my knight in shining armor." Stiles says, putting a hand on Derek's shoulder. Then before Derek knows it, he's leaning in and pressing a sloppy kiss to Derek's unsuspecting lips. 

It's crazy from there. They share a cab and Stiles sits on Derek's lap the whole way, lips moving frantically. Stiles kisses him harsh, fingers tugging at his hair, teeth nipping at his lip. Derek kisses back, tries to keep up, tries to say: I'm worth it, I'm worth it, I'm worth it, with every kiss. 

They stumble into Derek's house, he kicks the door shut behind them and suddenly Stiles is getting his dick out and his pants down right there, he presses Derek in where he's already slick and stretched- he wanted this. Derek understands. With someone else. That makes him growl and hold Stiles' wrists above his head, hips snapping at a brutal pace, every stroke saying: I love you, I love you, I love you. 

Stiles comes first, with a loud, obnoxious cry, shaking the walls of Derek's house. Derek's not far behind, Stiles kissing his neck softly. He comes with Stiles' name on his lips, kissing him hard. The sweat has barely cooled on his skin when Stiles is putting his clothes back on.   
"Stiles, wait,"  
"I've gotta go home Derek."  
"You can stay,"  
Stiles smiles ruefully, "I can't. You know I can't."  
"Please don't leave."  
"I'm sorry." 

He gets a text right before he gets in the shower, 

To: your number   
From: Stiles 

This was a mistake. 

 

April 

Derek avoids the first few meetings with Boyd and Stiles, but it's not worth Boyd's passive aggressive emails and office visits. They meet at five on a Friday afternoon. Derek is already drunk. There's handy tabs for them both to initial in the right spot. Derek is red. Stiles is blue. Boyd leaves them alone. 

"You've got almost a million dollars," Stiles says casually. He's a bit blurry. Derek just grunts. "I mean, what could be worth a million dollars right? A million dollars could buy all sorts of love. You didn't need mine."   
Derek doesn't say anything, just focuses on his signature. Stiles seems to get frustrated by this,   
"What? You all of a sudden don't have anything to say?"   
"What the hell do you want me to say? I've begged for a chance, apologized, what more do you want?" 

"I want to turn back time! I want to go back to that shitty apartment and when we had no heat! When we had no food! No car! No jobs! I want to go back to when our love got us through! I want to go back to when you loved me!"  
"I still love you. I'm sorry if it's in a different way now, I'm sorry I tried to make a life for you, for us, I'm sorry I wanted to give you everything I thought you deserved," Derek says.  
"I didn't want that! I wanted you!"  
"Well I'm fucking sorry that I thought you deserved more than that," Derek shouts. 

May   
He wakes up, hungover. This is his day most days. It's a Sunday, so he doesn't have to go into the office. He gets up, pisses, and digs for advil. He finds some, dry swallows three when he notices his wedding band on the edge of the sink. He never used to take it off. He was paranoid it would fall down the drain. The bathroom light is hurting his eyes. He pushes the ring into the sink. Watches it circle before sliding down the drain. Cool gold metal out of sight. Forever. 

 

June   
It's starting to get hot again. Erica and Boyd are pregnant, Allison and Scott are renewing their vows and Derek's divorced. He's sitting in the park across the street from his firm, watching a gorgeous blonde flirt with a father, walking his daughter along the edge of the fountain when it come to mind. He pulls out his phone, doesn't expect to get a response. 

From: your number   
To: Stiles 

Did you ever cheat?

From: Stiles  
To: your number 

No. Wanted to. But no. 

From: Your number   
To: Stiles   
I never did either. I wouldn't have blamed you though. We weren't really having sex. 

From: Stiles   
To: your number   
I didn't want to be like them. Plus that's shitty 

From: your number   
To: Stiles   
I probably deserved it 

From: Stiles  
To: your number   
You deserved a lot, but not that. 

From: your number   
To: Stiles   
I don't think I'll ever get over you.. 

 

July   
The tickets to Bora Bora are burning a hole in his pocket. He hasn't seen Stiles in months, and this was for him anyway. He doesn't see the point in going. He doesn't want to show up at Stiles' work. That's not right. So he does the only thing he can think of doing. He gives them to Boyd. He doesn't expect any sort of response, and he doesn't get one. 

He does get, pictures of Stiles, tan and lithe, crystal blue waves in the background. Derek tries not to be hurt. That was supposed to be them together. Forever. He had never thought that he would be on the cusp of thirty five and divorced. He and Stiles were invincible, they could beat anything. 

But life doesn't work that way, and his finger is used to the missing weight of his wedding ring, and his eyes are used to the bags they now carry. He doesn't get the same satisfaction from work any more, it's draining. He leaves the office by seven each night and collapses into bed, alone and depressed. He can't do this anymore. There's nothing to live for. Nothing to go on. He's alone. Always. For years he only had Stiles, and now he doesn't even have him. 

It starts with him getting so drunk that he can't help but cry into his pillow all night. The next day his headache is so real that he can feel his brain throbbing. He calls into work for the first time in god knows how long. He spends the day sleeping off his hangover, unable to even get out of bed to get greasy food. It's eight at night before he feels better and he goes out to get food. 

He spends the next four days in bed, eating Cheetos and Oreos. He doesn't shower, watches the entirety of Shameless on Netflix, and doesn't change clothes. He only gets out of his blanket cocoon to go to the bathroom. His phone is long dead and the taste of chocolate just barely numbs the pain in his heart. It's wonderful. 

August 

On the fifth day of Derek's breakdown, he makes it out of bed. Straight to his firm, and quits. He asks Erica to pack up his office and he leaves and goes right back home. To research realtors. The house is up for sale at the end of the week. 

Packing is no joke, and it drives Derek crazy. It's just him, surrounded by boxes and memories. It gets to the point where he nurses a bottle of whiskey as he goes through photo albums. There's only a few pictures left of his family, but there's so many of Stiles. Their wedding was beautiful. It was quite small, and back when Stiles' dad was still alive. There's pictures of him and Stiles, cheeks pressed together, of Derek carrying Stiles over the threshold. Derek cries for a long time, and it has nothing to do with the alcohol. 

 

September   
The house sells and Derek moves into the cabin. It's an hour away from the city and just what Derek needs. It's not like his phone rings much these days anyway. His days are spent drinking, writing and thinking about Stiles. He doesn't know what to do. So he drinks. Everything feels better when his mind is fuzzy, it doesn't hurt as much. 

He's long stopped calling and texting Stiles, because he'd threatened to block his number. He regrets flushing his ring because he misses it sometimes. All he has now is pictures, and Stiles' red hoodie he'd left. Derek sleeps with it. Curls into it. Inhales deeply until he can taste the faintest bit of Stiles' cologne at the back of his throat. Stains it in his tears. 

October 

On Derek's birthday, he goes to a bar. He gets ragingly drunk. He can barely open his eyes he's so drunk, but demanding another drink. When he bartender cuts him off, he grabs him by his collar and shakes him. Derek doesn't know what's happening, except they're taking his phone and calling someone. No ones coming to get him. They're gonna have to call the cops to get him home. 

"Derek, Derek, come on big guy, work with me," Stiles says, pulling Derek up from where he'd been slumped over at the bar.   
"Stiles?" He slurs, confused.  
"Apparently I'm still your emergency contact buddy, let's get you home."   
Derek nods slowly, trying to hold himself up and Stiles leads him to his car. 

It's not long before Derek ends up puking, all over himself, and Stiles' car. Before he knows it, he's crying, throat and eyes burning, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he slurs.   
"It's okay," Stiles soothes, "Are you done?"   
Derek shakes his head and Stiles pulls over, helps Derek out of the car so he can puke some more. Soon he's dry heaving and coughing, tears streaming down his cheeks.   
"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he keeps crying. 

Derek really should know where this is going when Stiles pulls up to his old house.   
"Not here," Derek moans. He feels gross and his throat and head hurts. He just wants to be in bed.   
"What do you mean?"  
"Don't live here."  
"What?" Stiles asks shocked.   
"Can't live here without you, cabin."  
"You live at the cabin?"  
Derek nods but it hurts and tears flood his eyes again.   
"I feel gross," he sniffles. 

Stiles pulls into a gas station and helps Derek out of the car. They go into the bathroom and he helps clean Derek up. Washes his face, gets him some mouth wash. They end up throwing his wet, pukey clothes away and Stiles gives him the extra shirt he'd had in his car. It's tight on Derek, making his muscles bulge even more. Stiles doesn't have any extra pants, but he did have blankets. He leaves Derek's briefs on, they're not wet or anything, and wraps Derek in the blanket. Derek is sitting on the toilet crying the whole time and Stiles keeps mumbling, "It's okay," in the most soothing voice he can manage. He tucks Derek back in the car with a bottle of Sprite and starts the hour drive to the cabin. 

When Derek wakes up, Stiles is gone. He wishes he could say something to him, anything. But Stiles probably wouldn't answer and he doesn't know how to say anything without saying, "I still love you." 

 

November   
The idea of being alone again for the holidays is enough to send Derek to drink. But he's not doing that anymore. So he works out. Rights. Eats whole quarts of ice cream. Eats whole pizzas. He's in town, four pints of Ben and Jerry's in his cart, alone with packs of Oreos and boxes of Mac and cheese when he runs into him. 

Stiles' cart is full of all the thanksgiving fixings, like a normal functioning human and Derek's heart leaps to his throat.   
"Hey," he says.   
Stiles looks up at him from his list, "Oh shit, hey."   
"Looks like you're getting ready for the holiday."  
"Yeah, Allison and I are cooking."  
"That's nice."  
"Any plans for you?" Stiles asks, looking at his cart.  
"Just me and the football game."

Stiles bites his lip like he wants to say something else, but can't. It's quiet for a few moments, but Derek doesn't want this to be over.   
"Our anniversary is coming up." Derek blurts out.  
"It is." Stiles just stares at him and Derek sighs, pushing his cart out of the way,   
"I'll see you around," he mumbles.   
He's all the way to the end of the aisle when Stiles calls down to him,   
"Hey Derek?"  
Derek turns back, "Yeah?"   
"Are you asking for anything special for Christmas this year?"   
Derek swallows hard, "Yeah, I'm, I'm asking for a second chance."

 

December 

Because he was terrified that being alone would cause him to fall into a drunken spiral, Derek got a cat. Three days before Christmas. It's a tiny little thing, black with bright green eyes and one white paw. Her name is Chloe and she's perfect. She minds her own business except for when Derek flops on the couch, ready for an eight hour Netflix binge, then she's right there next to him. 

Chloe is pretty cool. She doesn't mind Derek's constant munching or the fact he doesn't like to wear pants. She doesn't mind he talks to himself or is always around. They're a good match. He likes the cabin because it's quiet, and he goes to bed early every night because there's no point and Christmas Eve is no different. 

When he wakes up his windows are covered in snow and Chloe is rubbing against him, begging for food. He makes himself eggs and bacon, putting some bacon into Chloe's bowl, she loves it. He pours himself a second cup of coffee and settles onto the couch, he's got a whole season of Grey's Anatomy to watch. 

It's three o'clock in the afternoon and he's just finished half a pack of double stuff Oreos when there's a knock at the door. He stands up, shocked. Boyd and Erica were coming over but not until dinner time. He's just thankful he has pants on. He keeps the blanket wrapped around him like a cape and heads to the door. His jaw drops when he sees Stiles. His cheeks are bright pink and he's wearing a hat and black peacoat.   
"Can you let me in? I'm freezing my balls off." 

Derek moves aside and quickly let's Stiles' in. He takes off his boots, coat and hat as Derek stares.   
"Can I get some coffee?" Stiles finally asks. Derek nods quickly and heads to the kitchen.   
"Aww who is this?" Stiles asks, following him.   
"That's Chloe." Stiles crouches down and pets her, "She's sweet."  
"Yeah."   
"Merry Christmas." Stiles says, as Derek hands him a mug of coffee.  
"Merry Christmas," Derek repeats. 

Derek just stares at Stiles. He's so gorgeous, his hair and wide eyes, and his cream sweater and tight dark jeans. It makes Derek's throat go dry. This is everything that was his that he let go. It hurts.   
"Why are you here?" Derek asks. He can't help it. He needs to know.   
"I thought you didn't love me."  
Derek just blinks, "I, I'm sorry," he doesn't know what else to say. All he knows is he's sorry. So fucking sorry. For everything. 

"You just kept hurting me and ignoring me, and, you said you thought I deserved better than just you. What did you mean?"   
"I'm, I'm fucked up. And I wanted to give you everything. I didn't want you to leave, and I thought it I was around less we wouldn't fight as much, and since we weren't fighting, you wouldn't leave."   
"Fighting doesn't mean I don't love you."   
"I know that now. I, I never stopped loving you. I love you so goddamn much. I don't think I'm ever going to stop loving you." Derek admits, quietly. 

Stiles blinks, running a hand through his hair, "I know you're not. God I know."   
Derek can't help it, he just starts sobbing. He doesn't have alcohol to numb him anymore and his whole world is standing in front of him and he can't have it. His shoulders start shaking and a sob rips it's way out of his chest and tears flood down his cheeks,   
"Derek, please don't," Stiles reaches towards him and Derek let's out another sob, "I'm sorry, I'm sorry," he keeps saying as if that will take back everything. Stiles wraps his arms around him and Derek buries his face in his neck, letting Stiles comfort him. 

It takes awhile for Derek to stop crying and finally he pulls away, to look at Stiles who has his own tears in his eyes. Stiles puts his hands in his pockets, rocking back and forth. Derek is still in his space. He can't bring himself to move any farther away.   
"You asked me what I came here for," he pulls out his wedding band, it's white gold with diamonds, it's beautiful and so Stiles. Tears fall again and Derek tries to swallow the sob, "You're gonna need this, Don't cry," Stiles begs. Derek can't help it, his hand is numb when Stiles drops the ring in it. "Derek, look at me." 

Derek blinks his eyes open, staring into Stiles' beautiful golden brown eyes, who are full of their own tears,   
"You're gonna need it for when you ask me to marry you again."  
Derek stares, confused, tears blurring his vision.   
"I came here to ask if maybe you would like to go on a date with me." Stiles says, voice thick with tears.   
"Yes," Derek rumbles, "yes, yes yes."

He throws his arms around Stiles, squeezing him tight. His shoulder is damp from where Stiles' tears are dripping onto it. Stiles is laughing into his neck and Derek smiles wide, pressing a kiss to Stiles' head. Stiles squeezes at him tighter, pulling back to look into Derek's eyes,  
"Merry Christmas."  
Derek laughs, despite his wet cheeks and red eyes, "Merry Christmas." He says, pressing his lips to Stiles. Stiles tastes like salt and he kisses Derek back eagerly, hands tangling in his hair, while Chloe circles their feet.

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [Elation](https://archiveofourown.org/works/15092831) by [ymagor](https://archiveofourown.org/users/ymagor/pseuds/ymagor)




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